


Down the Rabbit Hole

by Brate



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mission Fic, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One another planet, Sheppard and McKay are forced to hide and wait for rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the Rabbit Hole

Another planet, another chase through another forest. It could almost be monotonous if they weren't too busy running for their lives.

"Head north."

Ronon's voice sounded in John's ear. He snagged Rodney's sleeve and pulled him the indicated direction. 

They couldn't stop. If these people got a hold of Rodney, they'd never see the scientist again. This time—shockingly—it hadn't been Rodney's fault. He hadn't fixed anything, hadn't shot off his mouth about being the smartest man in two galaxies, hadn't even brought out any equipment to play with. 

A visitor from another world had recognized McKay; John suspected he was Genii. And, of course, he'd announced that Rodney could fix all of their machines, whether they were beyond help or not. But nothing on this backwards planet was more technologically advanced that some automated farm equipment. No Ancient tech of any kind. Admittedly, Rodney was a genius scientist. But a mechanic? Nope, sorry. 

Unfortunately, the people of this planet had been culled to near extinction and were desperate. Desperation tended to lead toward mindless acts of violence. John's "look over there" maneuver had been less than successful. Ronon had gone with his standard "shoot anything that comes near us" plan, and had gotten them out of the village in one piece… mostly.

Some idiot had gotten off a lucky shot, and John had received a brand new hole in his side. It hadn't slowed him down yet, but his adrenaline rush was bound to wear off soon. And then he could look forward to a shit-ton of pain. 

Their escape had been cut off. They'd quickly discovered the gate had been surrounded by twenty armed men. Ronon had been willing to take them on, but John's cooler head—and wounded side—had prevailed. Now they just had to avoid capture or death until back-up arrived. No problem.

The team was due for a check-in within three hours. When Atlantis didn't hear from them, they would dial-in and radio. John was pretty sure the natives didn't have any kind of jamming technology, so they should be able to call for a jumper and be off this rock in four hours.

Maybe.

With luck.

Which they didn't seem to have much of in Pegasus.

*****

John leaned against the closest tree. They needed to take a break, even though his mind was screaming at him to keep going. He didn't like how heavily Rodney was breathing, and he'd rather not have the deep gasps alert their enemies. Nor would he like Rodney to have a stroke and keel over. Still, two gulps of water in as many minutes was all the time they could spare. 

"We need to move, McKay," John announced quietly after the allotted time had passed. The longer he remained inactive, the more his side started to hurt. He couldn't afford to go down yet—not until he got Rodney somewhere safe and defensible.

"One more minute," Rodney argued, finally starting to breathe normally.

John opened his mouth to refuse, but stopped at the sound of a snapping twig. John started to lift his P-90.

"I wouldn't do that, Colonel Sheppard."

John cursed silently. Rodney wasn't so silent. 

"Move away from Dr. McKay, please."

So polite for a would-be murderer. John knew as soon as he was far enough away, he'd be a goner. But there was no other action he could take that wouldn't put McKay at risk, something he wasn't prepared to do. He stepped left, ignoring Rodney's pleading eyes and slipping from his panicked grip. Unusually perceptive, Rodney knew that John was basically signing his own death warrant. Resigned to his fate, John's second step was easier. He didn't make a third.

There was a thump, then another. 

John turned in surprise. Ronon was standing over the now-unconscious natives. John hadn't heard him approach. Fortunately, neither did their attackers. 

"If you guys are done playing, I found a spot to hide," Ronon said flashing a grin. It dimmed a little as he looked more closely at John. 

John shook his head, shooting a subtle glance at Rodney. 

With a grunt, Ronon nodded. He led the way, winding through the dense trees and underbrush, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Following close, John was glad Teyla had been struck with some type of "Athosian flu." Though sick, it meant she was safe back in the city, not being hunted on another planet. 

It took them about twenty minutes to reach their destination. All John could see was one tall tree, next to a taller tree, next to an even taller tree. The more he looked the more his neck started to hurt.

"I'm not climbing a tree if that's what you're planning," John stated, wiping sweat from his face.

Ronon stepped forward, and pushed a bush to the side. Behind was a dark hole—the entrance to a cave.

John smiled.

Rodney looked aghast. "There's no way I'm crawling into that pit of despair," he announced, folding his arms over his chest and lifting his chin. "There could be alien bears or something inside."

Ronon made a noise. John couldn't say whether it was a sneeze or a laugh. 

"There's no place else," Ronon said.

John was definitely feeling the burn from his wound and knew he would be hard-pressed to look for a better place. "Yes, you are," he ordered Rodney. John held up a hand to stop any further argument. "I'll go in first to satisfy any alien bears." 

Rodney _humph_ ed. "Like your scrawny body could offer anything more than an hors d'ouerve." 

John looked to Ronon, knowing he wasn't going inside. "You'll cover the opening behind us?" he verified.

Ronon glanced down at John's side before meeting his eyes. "I'll keep them busy."

"Don't take any chances."

Ronon smiled but stayed silent. It was as close as the Satedan would come to agreement.

John sighed. "All right, let's get this over with." He used the rock face to guide himself to his knees without collapsing. His side had started to throb insistently—next would come fever and shock. He'd rather be inside and lying down for that. John looked up at Ronon. "As soon as Atlantis calls in, we'll report and get a jumper with Marine backup."

"I've got it covered, Sheppard. You worry about yourself." 

That finally broke through whatever cave-dwelling atrocities Rodney had been imagining. "Wait, what? Why should he worry about himself?" Rodney looked between them, as if finally realizing this wasn't standard protocol. His eyes narrowed.

"Sheppard got hit when we were getting away," Ronon tattled.

John groaned; here it came. 

"Why didn't you say something, you idiot? We could've—"

"What, Rodney? Could've sat down and waited for the bad guys to catch up, kill me, and kidnap you? No, thanks. Once we're settled, you can slap a bandage on and I'll be fine." John sent one last look to Ronon, before starting to creep inside the tunnel. Hunched over was not doing him any favors, pain-wise. John heard Rodney crawling behind, his grunts and gasps loud in the confined space.

What little light there'd been was extinguished as Ronon replaced the branches and leaves over the opening.

Rodney gave a quick cry of alarm before he cut it off and said, "Oh." There was some fumbling, then the glow of Rodney's flashlight shot through the darkness. "Ah ha!" Rodney called out, triumphant.

John waited a beat. "You finished? Can I start moving again?"

"I never told you to stop," Rodney shot back. 

John sighed and continued.

Another ten or twelve feet and John reached a larger space. He moved to the side and sat with his back to a stone wall. 

Entering the opening, Rodney swung his light around like a strobe at a disco. Between the flashes, John saw their temporary home was about the circumference of a walk-in closet, but the ceiling was less than five feet off the ground at its highest point. No room to stand, which was fine with John right now. He was definitely running low on energy reserves. 

John leaned his head back against the cold rock and closed his eyes. His rest was short-lived as Rodney started tugging on his clothes.

"Quit it." John ineffectively slapped at the offending hands.

"Stop acting like a two-year-old. I need to check your wound."

Acceding to logic, John gave in. He helped Rodney remove his tac vest and used it as a pillow when he lay down so he could lift his shirt. He groaned as the blood-soaked fabric pulled at the injured flesh.

Rodney propped the flashlight so he could have both hands free. He looked down. "Oh," he said, "that's not so bad."

Even in the dim glow, John could see Rodney turning three shades paler. 

Rodney looked over and saw John observing. He gave a weak grin. "I thought you said this was bad."

John drawled, "I was hoping you wouldn't catch on so I could keep being lazy."

"Well, your plan failed," Rodney said, playing along as he pulled bandages from his pack. 

As soon as he pressed them to John's side, the low burning that had been plaguing John ignited into a brushfire, shooting pain through his entire body. 

"God…bless it!" John bit off. He couldn't afford to let out the scream building inside of him. Their position was precarious—any noise could lead their enemy right to them. 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Rodney chanted. But he didn't let up on the pressure, too well trained by Carson de Sade. Once John's wound was wrapped securely, Rodney sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on his thighs. "Now what?"

"Now you give me two of the pain pills and then we wait to be rescued," John said. He lifted his arm, squinting in the low light as he tried to read his watch. "They should be here within two or three hours." 

"Are you going to make it that long?"

"You said yourself: it's not that bad."

"I was lying as you well know. You can't fool the guy that just wrapped you like a mini-mummy."

"It doesn't matter; we can't do anything else."

Rodney heaved a frustrated sigh. While John could wait for hours—guarding scientists, setting an ambush—Rodney was the type of person who was always on the move, always fidgeting as his body tried to keep up with his brain. The only time he was still was when he was asleep. Then it would take an explosion or Wraith attack to rouse him. 

So, unless he wanted to knock Rodney unconscious or could convince him to take a nap, John would be stuck with a bored scientist with nothing to do for the next few hours except fixate on John and his injury, which wouldn't lead anywhere good.

Truthfully, John was starting to feel better. He knew it was from being able to lie down and not from the pills kicking in, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Right now less pain equaled good. 

As he opened his mouth to tell Rodney, he heard angry voices drifting in from outside.

Rodney's eyes widened and he scrambled to cover the light then switch it off. "What do we do?" he whispered.

"Shh," John whispered back, as soundless as he could while getting his point across. They sat in tense silence, John's muscles taut and heart pounding. Long moments passed as the natives converged outside their hiding place. John's jaw ached as he clenched his teeth. 

Finally, _finally_ , their hunters left. Even so, they waited a few more minutes to make sure they were in the clear. 

"Oh my God," Rodney breathed out. "That was too close." He turned the light back on, making sure it was pointed toward the rear of the cave. 

_Yeah, it was._ "Rodney?"

"What?"

"You may have to leave me."

"Yeah, right," Rodney scoffed.

"I'm serious."

"I'm sure you are. You're also mentally impaired if you think I'm going anywhere without you."

"They don't want me."

"Exactly. So they'll have no reason to keep you alive. And if you think I can live knowing that I—" Rodney cut himself off and shook his head. "No. Just…no."

John swallowed the shame. He hadn't actually expected Rodney to leave him, but he hadn't meant to insult him."We haven't heard from Ronon in a while," he offered softly.

Rodney's eyes flashed. "I'll call him because we need to, but don't think I'm going to forget your moronic suggestion." He turned his back to John and keyed his radio. "McKay to Ronon." 

"I'm here, McKay," Ronon answered after a beat.

"What's the sit-rep?" John asked over Rodney.

"Playing Tag; they're still 'it,'" Ronon answered with a smile in his voice. 

John snorted. Of all of Earth's pop culture to learn…. "We have," John checked his watch, "seventy-five minutes until check-in. You going to be okay?"

"Don’t know," Ronon said.

John's stomach dropped. It was his fault Ronon had to stay out there playing cat and mouse with an unknown number of adversaries. Before he could say anything, Ronon continued.

"Don't know if that'll give me enough time for me to teach these guys a lesson."

John groaned. "It's your job to evade, not engage."

"I can do both," Ronon assured him. 

John gave up, closing his eyes and lying back against the stone. 

"How's Sheppard?" 

John ignored the voice in his ear, knowing it was not directed at him.

Rodney reported in a whisper, as if John wasn't hearing him in person and relayed through his headset. "He's lost a lot of blood and he looks really pale."

_Probably true_ , John mentally agreed.

"He won't be much help if we have to fight our way out," Rodney added.

"Hey," John protested weakly. Of course, it might've been more impressive if he'd been able to open his eyes.

"Shut up, Colonel. We'll be lucky if I can get you out of this hole, let alone to the jumper."

"Copy that," Ronon acknowledged. "Got company; going silent."

Ronon's radio cut off and it was quiet in the small tomb, allowing John to think. He hated that Ronon was out there risking his life while he sat inside _hiding_. Logically, he knew he would only be a liability to Ronon—probably getting both of them killed—but he didn't care. Rodney should be the protected one. John should be out there fighting. 

This _sucked_.

*****

John didn't know how long he'd been dozing before he was awakened by a noise. He opened his eyes to the dark.

"We've got company," Rodney whispered next to his ear. 

John's hand instantly went to the P-90 beside him. He swallowed a groan as even that small movement sent agony shooting through his side. Carefully, he pulled the weapon to his chest, ready to use it if necessary.

Rodney's hands clenched on his pistol, John could hear the telltale squeak of fingers as they squeezed the grip. 

John's breath caught in his throat when he saw a streak of light come down the tunnel. Trying to burrow into the side of their alcove while remaining perfectly silent was not the easiest thing John had ever done, but if it kept them alive, so be it. 

The light shifted from side-to-side, nearly catching John's foot on one pass. But apparently their pursuers weren't fond of enclosed spaces, because it didn't seem as though anyone was coming inside. A few more scrapes sounded at the entrance, and then they were gone. 

John relaxed, letting his body sag, inadvertently bringing his pain to the forefront once again. He bit off a groan, concerned that the men were still close enough to hear.

"Shit," Rodney whispered furiously. "Shit, shit, shit."

John couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "Tell me how you really feel," he said quietly.

Rodney turned on the light, shining it straight into John's eyes.

"Knock it off," John said, shooting up a hand to prevent being blinded.

"Oops, sorry." The light was moved lower on his body, highlighting his side for a long moment, before Rodney flashed it on his watch. "We've got twenty minutes until check-in," he announced anxiously.

"I'll live," John said, not fully confident, but not wanting Rodney to freak out any more.

"Of course you will," Rodney stated as if John was a simpleton for implying otherwise. "I'm just giving you a goal."

"You're all heart," John said. He drifted in a haze of pain and babbling, startling when he heard a new voice in his ear: Chuck, the gate tech. 

Rodney sped through a report, as if the faster he talked, the faster they'd be rescued—not completely irrational. 

Lorne came on soon after, asking specifics. He signed off after assuring them his team would be coming ASAP. 

"Well," Rodney said, "I guess he's not so useless after all."

"I'll be sure to relay the compliment."

"Oh, please. He knows exactly what I think of him."

"I'm pretty sure everyone on Atlantis knows what you think of them," John teased.

Rodney snorted. "Why don't you get some rest? I'm going to contact Ronon and make sure he heard the plan." 

John couldn't think of any reason to argue, and drifted off listening to Rodney's call to their teammate.

*****

John awoke to someone shaking his shoulder. Luckily his reflexes were muted, or else he might've given Rodney a broken nose. As it was, he just slapped at him. Even Rodney seemed to find it embarrassing, which was beyond pathetic.

"Okay, Jackie Chan, we gotta go."

It took longer than it should for the mental connections to be made. "The rescue team is here?" John asked.

"They're about ten minutes out. There wasn't a landing spot nearby, so we're going to them."

"And you’re going to lead us there?" The tone was skeptical, because as shitty at directions as John was, Rodney was three times worse.

Apparently following his train of thought, Rodney held up a life signs detector. "I'm heading straight to them. I told Lorne and the Marines to stay inside the cloaked jumper unless we need them. Ronon is going to meet us there. It'll be easier for the two of us to sneak through the woods rather than the eight of them. And as much as I'd like to kill everyone on this damn planet, it would probably be better to leave with the least damage necessary."

"Rodney, you're being so mature. I'm proud of you," John deadpanned.

"Yeah, whatever. Shut up and let's go."

The pain meds had already worn off, but John couldn't risk taking more. He had to be alert as possible in order to get to the jumper. Predictably, the crawl out of the tunnel ended up being a bundle of excruciating fun—something he'd rather block out of his head and never have to do again.

John was still on his hands and knees outside the cave when Rodney followed. 

Rodney waited patiently for about ten seconds before he squatted beside him. "Are you going to be able to do this or should I have Lorne bring a stretcher?"

"Just give me a minute," John barked. He gave himself thirty more seconds before holding out an arm.

Fortunately, Rodney knew what he was asking without needing to verbalize, and helped him to stand. John wasted another fifteen seconds waiting for the dizziness to pass before he realized it probably wasn't going to. He put his right hand on his gun and said, "Lead the way, Kemosabe."

Rodney huffed a laugh. "I would've thought you'd want to be the Lone Ranger," he commented quietly, slipping John's arm over his shoulder, and sliding his own arm around John's waist. Rodney held the LSD in his left hand.

"Are you kidding?" John said. "Tonto was so much cooler. He was the real badass." 

Using the life signs detector, they avoided the natives' patrols. It took almost twice as long as it should have and John was leaning heavily on Rodney by the end. John almost cried with relief when he saw the rear door of the jumper lower into the clearing. A group rushed toward them, the medics attacking John as the Marines secured the perimeter. 

John was hustled into the jumper and helped onto a pallet of blankets stretched out on the floor. He thought about holding in his groans as they worked on his injury, but at this point, he just didn’t care.

Rodney sat near his head, ignoring the medic who tried to get him to move. 

As soon as the urgency abated, Lorne squatted next to him. "Colonel."

"Major."

"How was your trip?"

"You know, the usual." John looked around the cabin. "Where's Ronon?"

"I talked to him about five minutes ago," Lorne said, "but he seemed… busy." 

John sighed and activated his radio. "Ronon, quit messing around and get your ass here now. They won't give me the good stuff without Carson's okay."

"Two minutes," came the reply.

John wasn't sure if Ronon made the deadline, because he was unconscious less than a minute later.

*****

When John woke up in the infirmary, it was to a pleasant, muffled feeling all over his body. Normally he would detest that numbness and do all he could to avoid it, but right now he'd savor it. He opened his eyes and looked around. 

Teyla was hunched in a chair beside his bed—she looked like crap. John wanted to tell her to go back to her own bed, but at the same time he didn't want to wake her. Her sixth sense must've been working overtime, though, because she stretched and yawned, opened her eyes, and saw he was awake. She smiled. 

"Are you all right?" he asked. Because she really did look like shit.

She shook her head ruefully. "They would not let me on the jumper to go off-world, but they could not stop me from coming to see you here."

"How long?"

"You've been home for two days." Teyla leaned over and slipped an ice chip into his mouth. "We've been taking turns watching over you, though they kept my time shorter than the others'."

"Yeah, I can see why. Go back to bed, I'm fine."

She frowned. "Do not make me wish you asleep again, John. I need to inform them that you've awoken."

"Do you really?" John whined.

She leaned forward and gave him the weird Athosian forehead bump. "Yes, I must." But she sounded regretful. 

All too soon, she vanished behind a flurry of medical personnel who eventually disappeared, leaving only Carson behind to explain John's injuries. By that time, John was so exhausted, he barely caught the gist of the report: internal bleeding, infection, no permanent damage. 

Apparently John was very, very lucky.

As he watched Ronon and Rodney come to stand by the foot of his bed, and Teyla returned to his side, John already knew that.


End file.
